Twenty missed calls before I’ve even left the bed
Whole world needs a piece, I’m still looking for my head
They ask if I’m alright like they’re checking off a task
Please, YOU tell ME how I feel
Twenty missed calls at nine, my shadow clocks in first
Hundred twenty-four tickets and they’re multiplying worse
None on the Beemer, though, the dashboard looking clean
Funny how the car’s got fewer warnings than the man behind the wheel
Keeping everybody weary just by being in the room
Like the air gets slightly heavier whenever I assume
That I’m right - which is often, or at least that’s what I’ve heard
From the voice inside my skull that never lets me finish words
They see the things that worked, all polished, bright and loud
Don’t ask about the graveyard buried underneath the cloud
Hundred good ideas that were definitely the one
Till the next one showed up hotter and I left them in the sun
Please, YOU tell ME how I feel, make it simple, make it neat
I’ve got half the world applauding, other half beneath my feet
Success shines a light, but it never points behind me
Where the half-built little empires pile up and remind me
I can make the whole thing work, I just can’t make it stop
Ego at the wheel, depression calling shotgun (shotgun)
Deadlock with the Chinese at four a.m., peace at last
No phone calls, no questions, no pretending I’m relaxed
Just five strangers yelling something I don’t understand
Still the clearest conversation that I’ve had with any man
Some days the dealer fucks me, some days black lotus turn one
Some days I’m cursed beyond belief, some days I’m God’s own son
Every promise that I offered grew a mouth and started speaking
Every client, every project, every “quick one while you’re here”
Forms a choir in my pocket and they’re harmonising fear
Put me poolside in a resort, I’ll still be checking what went wrong
Then call the panic “leadership” and put it in a song
Got confidence for days, self-esteem by appointment
Turn a breakdown into branding, call the trauma “market positioning”
I’m an industry disruptor when I haven’t slept for three days
And an unexplained absence when the crash catches me
She said I need to open up, I said, “That sounds dramatic”
She said I make a joke of every thought that might be tragic
I can’t tell if I’m exhausted or just bored of being me
Don’t go digging through the graveyard
You might find the parts I meant
All the almosts, all the maybes
All the energy I spent
Twenty missed calls waiting, morning bleeding through the blinds
I keep everyone exhausted - Mostly me, most of the time.
